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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482207">Dogsbody</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/benoitmacon'>benoitmacon (larvae)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Master's House [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Buy one spooky telepath manager Get one free, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub Play, Dry Humping, Episode: S03E112: Thrill of the Chase, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Fully Clothed, M/M, Master/Pet, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Petplay, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, distracted sex, spit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:13:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/benoitmacon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Now I'm ready to close my eyes</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And now I'm ready to close my mind</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And now I'm ready to feel your hand</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And lose my heart on the burning sands</i>
</p>
<p>Jon returns from America and heads to Elias' office.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Master's House [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750198</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>202</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dogsbody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having braved kidnapping, necromancy, and London Heathrow, The Archivist now screwed his courage to its sticking place to knock on a six panel door. His knuckles hovered over the shabbily painted composite, his eyes darting from its brass knob to its hinges. He tried to steady his breath.</p>
<p>“Come in, Jon,” came a muffled voice from its other side.</p>
<p>Jon closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. Of course he had known. Maybe he’d only drawn this out so long because he was waiting to be cut a little slack. After all he’d been through he felt he deserved to be thrown a bone. He turned the knob and crossed the threshold, something he had taken to holding his breath while doing.</p>
<p>“You knew it was me,” he said to the figure posed at the desk at the center of the room. He was busy with something, writing in a large grid notebook and glancing occasionally up at his monitor. He had his readers perched at the end of his nose.</p>
<p>“I don’t get many visitors at my door, Jon. And I’ve known you long enough to recognize your footsteps,” Elias said without looking up. Jon scoffed.</p>
<p>“Your deeply held distrust of me aside, what can I do for you?” he answered calmly, “I must say I’m glad to have you back.”</p>
<p>That was certainly shocking to hear. Jon felt his features melt into a somewhat dumbfounded expression.</p>
<p>“I, uh, thank you,” he stammered, still hovering in the doorway, “you’re, uhm, probably the only one.”</p>
<p>“You’re probably right. Now, how may I help you?”</p>
<p>“I just…” Jon closed the door behind him softly, “I just wanted to see you.”</p>
<p>Elias glanced up at him, and for the first time his pen stopped scratching over his paper. He made a small, self satisfied sound before returning to his work.</p>
<p>“Did you do that?”</p>
<p>Elias stopped again, bothering to turn his head this time. His brows were furrowed and his mouth downturned in a way that suggested he might actually be shocked. “I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“You know what I’m asking,” Jon insisted, “Did you… did you put the thought in my mind?”</p>
<p>“Would you believe me if I told you honestly that I didn’t?”</p>
<p>“How could I tell? If you were being honest?”</p>
<p>“You would have to trust me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Elias took his glasses off and ran a hand over his face, sighing as if the thought genuinely pained him, “and that leaves us at an impasse I’m afraid. So, why did you come here?”</p>
<p>“Because I wanted to see you,” Jon said again, his jaw tightening in frustration.</p>
<p>“Yes. <em> You </em> wanted.”</p>
<p>“Yes but what if I was <em> made </em> to want it?”</p>
<p>“Would knowing that change your mind?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Jon said, his back pressed against the door behind him and his hands jammed in his pockets.</p>
<p>“Then let’s look at it this way,” said Elias, all office politics, diplomacy, and steepled fingers, “Let’s assume this conspiracy of yours is true. You were compelled to be here. Does knowing this, and accepting it as truth, change your feelings on the matter?”</p>
<p>Jon was silent. He searched Elias’ face for a moment and found nothing in his eyes.</p>
<p>“No,” he said finally.</p>
<p>“Then does it matter?”</p>
<p>“It should!” he said, anger flaring in his voice.</p>
<p>“And I’m very glad you think that, Jon,” said Elias sternly, “but I have no way of convincing you that your actions are your own when you are hell bent on finding excuses to doubt that. The fact of the matter is that you do not hold yourself responsible for your willingness to go forward on a path you feel beholden to resent.”</p>
<p>“You keep forcing my hand.”</p>
<p>“I keep guiding it,” Elias countered, “and tempering its eagerness when necessary.”</p>
<p>Jon looked at the floor. This was far from the first time he’d been admonished for his overindulgence but it never felt like it at the time. Didn’t eagerness require enthusiasm? All his actions felt like an unavoidable culmination of manic desperation. He felt himself driven into corners and backed against walls and trapped between rocks and hard places. Brought forth from his ignorance too quickly like a sea creature dragged screaming from the depths, brought into a world that it could not survive in.</p>
<p>“I missed you,” he said at last, in admission of defeat.</p>
<p>“I know,” said Elias, not unkindly, “I felt it from you.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t contact me,” Jon could feel his voice teetering between rage and despair.</p>
<p>“I couldn’t risk distracting you,” Elias spoke with a sickening sort of patience reserved for small children and grieving widows, “but you’re here now, and I’m very pleased for it.”</p>
<p>Jon dug his nails into his palms in disgust. </p>
<p>“Would you care to stay a while?” Elias’ voice was gentle and inviting.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jon said, keeping his gaze focused on Elias’ desk, watching his hands instead of his face.</p>
<p>“Excellent,” he said, and reached towards his glasses.</p>
<p>“Did you?”</p>
<p>Elias paused with his readers brought halfway to his face, “Did I…?”</p>
<p>“Miss me?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have preferred you here,” he said, tucking in his elbow to rest his chin on the back of his hand, “Your work was critical and the travel was necessary. But I did… feel your absence, yes, Jon. Does that comfort you to hear?”</p>
<p>“No,” Jon laughed.</p>
<p>“Nor should it. Such distractions are beneath us.”</p>
<p>“Do I distract you, Elias?”</p>
<p>Elias drummed the fingers of his left hand over his desk and a smile pricked at the corners of his eyes, a shadow of it cast across his thin lips.</p>
<p>“Not,” he said, putting his glasses back onto the tip of his nose and turning back to his work, “if you sit quietly enough.”</p>
<p>Jon stayed where he was for a moment, considering the invitation. He looked over Elias’ dark cherry wood executive desk, his opulent leather chair, and the crisp pressed edges of his shirtsleeves peeking out from his forest green suit jacket. It was all overtly foppish and dreadfully corporate, and Jon, in his borrowed t-shirt and wrinkled slacks, felt sharply and suddenly underdressed.</p>
<p>With a dissipating sense of trepidation, he crossed the room, stepping around Elias’ desk until he stood at his right side. He was left handed, with his desk arranged to accommodate, his computer framed by a half finished mug of tea and a tiered contraption to hold his fountain pens. There was a spreadsheet open on his monitor, and he was copying data from it in longhand, presumably for his personal records, which he preferred to keep in print. Jon could remember, with the same kind of clarity and distance that he could remember watching a movie or reading a book, that he had once thought to ask Elias’ to explain his own filing system, with the idea that Gertrude may have been working off of something James Wright had taught them both. It felt very odd to imagine a time where that had mattered.</p>
<p>Jon could feel a burning in his eyes from a build up of sleepless nights and traversed time zones. He thought of Xiaoling and the pleasant surprise on her face when he’d crossed their language barrier. He thought of Trevor and Julia finishing one another’s thoughts with ribs and references to half buried quarrels. He thought of Gerry Keay still pulling at the ring in his lip with his teeth when he was thinking, even in death, and of the grim, resentful silence that had filled Daisy’s car when she’d picked him up from the crowded Arrivals platform. He tried to think of his place amid all of this and couldn’t. Try as he might he could not form a mental space for himself to fill. Any jigsaw piece he thought to try felt like it would have to be trimmed to fit.</p>
<p>In resignation, he lowered himself to the floor, placing his knees on either side of Elias’ right foot and resting his head on his bent knee like a calf bled on an altar. He felt his patella fit neatly under his malar bone, his nose pressing over its curve. The patella, he knew for no reason at all, was the largest sesamoid bone in the body. The Heathrow security staffer who’d directed Jon from his terminal had broken his as a child, attempting to jump over a dry riverbed with his friends. It had never healed properly, and bothered him to this day. He told his wife it ached when there was a storm coming. This was inaccurate.</p>
<p>Elias reached his right hand down and rested it gently on the crown of Jon’s skull as if he were a prized hound. His palm cupped gracefully over Jon’s head, his fingers pushed through his hair to rest against his scalp. Jon let the weight of it settle over him, listening to Elias’ fountain pen scratch over his notepad, interspersed with the occasional shifting of his ergonomic mouse and tapping at his keyboard. Then, in a fluid motion that could almost pass for distraction, Elias idly brushed his fingers through Jon’s hair. He followed the strands out to their ends, letting them fall from his hand before slowly bringing it back from the open air to rest back on Jon’s head and repeating the motion. Jon’s breath hitched and he felt his shoulders tense. He wrapped his arms around Elias' leg, slipping his left hand under his pant leg to rest against his calf and leaving his right at his ankle, just above the lip of his Italian leather loafer. He felt his fingers bump over the clasps of his sock garter before finding the tender skin in the ditch of his knee. Despite himself his breath came ragged, and he tried to force himself to relax, his shoulder rounding and his weight shifting. Elias’ fingertips were cool and steady against the burning Jon felt across his skin. He swallowed, feeling his head shift slightly over Elias’ knee as the muscles moved under his skin. </p>
<p>Elias gave no indication that he’d noticed any of this, though after a few minutes he changed the rhythm of his fingers, swirling them over Jon’s scalp and flexing them back as he smoothed over his hair. Jon sank his teeth into the tip of his tongue.</p>
<p>Jon could feel his senses shrinking to a pinhole perspective. His ambient awareness of the comings and goings of Institute staff, moving and breathing and typing across its many floors, seemed to dim. Even the general disquiet of his own internal monologue had faded. He could hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, and the soft brushing of his greying hair through Elias’ fingers, echoing through his skull as if it were his own voice. It was peaceful in the way he imagined asylum restraints might be peaceful if you practiced enough self deception.</p>
<p>Gently, Elias smoothed his hand over the side of Jon’s head until his wrist partially covered his eyes. He moved his fingers to the shell of Jon’s left ear, gliding them back and forth before pinching it gently with his thumb to massage the cartilage between his fingers.</p>
<p>At that Jon’s cock gave an interested twitch and he shifted, suddenly and awkwardly, to lift himself away from Elias’ foot. Already, sounds that had not picked a course between apologies and excuses were tumbling from his lips.</p>
<p>“No, that’s quite alright, Jon,” Elias interrupted, turning his head just a fraction to look down at him, “I’m happy to indulge it.”</p>
<p>He moved his hand, bringing his fingers to curl under Jon’s chin and scratch his nails gently through his stubble. It made him hard.</p>
<p>“Elias,” Jon breathed, halfway in panic. His chin was tilted up towards him now, his fingers still pressed into the skin of his calf, his teeth nearly chattering. Positioned as he was so close to his lap, Jon could see no arousal to match his own, which he could feel pressing against Elias’ ankle. Elias turned to look down at him as Jon hugged his leg to his chest.</p>
<p>“You’ve been a very good boy for me, Jon,” he said slowly, leaning heavily into each word. He moved his hand again to cup Jon’s jaw, smoothing his thumb across his cheek.</p>
<p>“Do you like it when I tell you that?” he asked. From this angle his glasses distorted his eyes so Jon could feel four of various sizes boring into him.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Jon, honestly and desperately.</p>
<p>“Good,” said Elias cheerfully, “I like it when you earn it. Now, do you think you could earn some more today?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jon nodded, nuzzling his cheek against his palm.</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit, we’ll give it our best effort, shall we?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jon said again, because it’s all he felt he could manage. Yes. Anything. Everything. More.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Elias corrected.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Good, very good. You’re learning already,” Elias cooed, curling his fingers to scratch Jon’s neck just below his ear. Jon closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, moving his hand from where it rested at Elias’ ankle to undo his belt. He wanted him to see what his words were doing to him. He wanted him to watch, to talk him through it, to guide his hand. But he had barely managed to put his fingers to the buckle when Elias’ hand on his neck became a fist in his hair, twisting at the roots until his knuckles grazed his scalp and lifted him up nearly off the floor. Jon cried out in pain and felt the heat rise in his belly, a shiver spreading through his chest. Elias let up quickly, as soon as Jon moved his hand away from where it wasn’t allowed.</p>
<p>“Not like that,” he said simply, and watched as Jon curled back around his leg, “Marvelous. I’m sure you’ll do excellent, Jon. You’ve always been a quick study.”</p>
<p>Jon rocked his hips against Elias’ leg, hanging onto every word. He pressed his weight down, angling his loafer to sit between his cock and the inside of his thigh. This was humiliating. It was debased. He desperately wanted more. He leaned into Elias’ palm until his hand was bearing the weight of his head and pressed his fingertips harder into his calf and ankle, overcome by the need to press himself closer, to touch his skin to his. Elias smirked and leaned his knee forward toward Jon’s body, meeting the pressure of his hips as he humped against his leg. He turned calmly back to his work.</p>
<p>“E- Elias,” Jon stammered, “I, ah -- I need m -- ”</p>
<p>“No talking, please,” Elias interrupted, and shoved two fingers into his mouth.</p>
<p>Jon gagged, more from surprise than pain. His body tensed like a bow string at the invasion and his cock throbbed. Elias moved his finger over his tongue from root to tip, pulling them fully out of his mouth before shoving them in again. He pressed hard against his tongue and jammed purposefully at the back of his throat. Jon opened his mouth wider and moaned as his knuckles knocked against his teeth. He relaxed his throat as best he could and tried to keep his lips pulled over his teeth. He wanted to show Elias he was good at this. He wanted to show Elias what he might be missing. Elias put a third finger in his mouth, splaying them wide to press against the inside of his cheeks and pressing down to push his lower jaw into his neck, abusing his mouth more than fucking it. Jon took it stoically, all the while trying to find a way to press his neglected, aching cock to Elias’ leg, pressing this way and that in desperate hopes of find the touch he craved. He whined piteously, and Elias withdrew his dripping wet hand. He kept his fingertips resting on Jon’s swollen lips, letting the collected spittle dribble down his chin.</p>
<p>“Clean that up for me,” he said, his eyes still on his work.</p>
<p>Jon did, licking over Elias’ hand, swallowing his own now cold spit. His throat hurt from where Elias had jabbed into it, his tongue hurt from where his nails had raked over it, his cock ached with how badly he wanted to touch himself.</p>
<p>“Elias,” he said, with the tips of his middle and index finger balanced on his teeth. He could hardly recognize his own voice. Elias turned his head to look back down at him. “You might make me cum like this.”</p>
<p>Elias smiled and caught his tongue between his teeth. His eyes were half lidded, and he moved to take his glasses off his face with his free hand, placing them gently on his desk. </p>
<p>“Not just yet,” he breathed, and tipped Jon’s head down gently, hooking his first knuckle behind his teeth, “I’ll tell you when. But you’re doing very well. And you look beautiful.”</p>
<p>He was hard, now, Jon could see it clearly, and he wished desperately to take his cock into his mouth. To taste him, to choke on him, to show him how much better he could do when he was working with the real thing. He wanted him to know how eager he was to please. He wanted to make him cum, to gag as he spilled forcefully down his throat. He wanted all his pleasure and his violence.</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir,” Jon managed around his fingers. </p>
<p>He felt Elias flex his foot up against his body and leaned back so he could press the sole of his shoe against his cock. The motion let his fingers fall from his mouth and he leaned his elbow on the armrest of his chair, pumping his foot up and down as Jon rocked against it. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than he’d been getting, and he struggled to slow the jackrabbit pace of his hips. </p>
<p>Elias’ work was fully abandoned now and it made Jon’s chest swell with pride. He was watching him carefully now, and Jon keened as he thought of what he could do with his full attention. He wanted him to watch. He wanted to show him. He thought of dragging his tongue over his skin and tasting his sweat. He thought of watching Elias jack himself off and being asked to clean him up when he finished, licking over his belly and his spent cock. He thought carefully and pointedly. He tried to think very <em> loudly </em>. He couldn’t tell if it worked, but suddenly Elias leaned forward and grabbed his hair again, pulling down hard with a fist at the nape of his neck, using his new leverage to press his foot down harder on his straining cock. Jon could feel himself leaking, desperate and over eager, already forming a wet spot against the fabric that separated him from what he wanted.</p>
<p>“Open your mouth,” Elias said curtly.</p>
<p>Jon did. He couldn’t tell if there was power behind his words but it didn’t matter, not doing so didn’t even cross his mind. He’d been right. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. He wanted to because Elias told him to, the Master that gave him that power be damned.</p>
<p>Elias brought his face forward, and with no warming, spit into Jon’s mouth. He felt the cold, wet gob of enzymes hit his tongue and spill down his throat. </p>
<p>That did it.</p>
<p>The friction of too many layers of fabric against his skin that had been so painfully not enough became far too much all at once. Jon came, riding out his orgasm in a fiftful spasm of bucking hips and gasped repetitions of Elias’ name. It was too much too fast. He’d known he was close but he’d been taken by surprise. Jon fell forward against Elias’ outstretched leg, resting his cheek again against his knee, bracing his shoulder against his calf. He was shaking, and somewhere in the distance, he heard Elias tutt.</p>
<p>“Hm, well it was before I told you to, but still, that was a valiant effort.”</p>
<p>Jon craned his neck, keeping his head against Elias’ knee as he watched him pull the handkerchief from his breast pocket and clean off his right hand.</p>
<p>“I’m, uh,” Jon swallowed, a stray shiver making its way up his spine and rattling his teeth, “I’m sorry sir.”</p>
<p>“That’s quite alright, Jon,” Elias said, tossing his handkerchief aside and leaning forward to ruffle a hand through his sweat soaked hair, “You did very well. I’m proud of you for lasting so long. You were a good listener and I’m very happy with you.”</p>
<p>Jon sank his teeth into his lip. The now familiar feeling of Elias’ gentle hand in his hair and kind words strung through the air felt warm and tender and indulgent. He felt he’d found his place here. Not in the greater scheme of things. Not in the grand orchestration of whatever eldritch war he was a pawn in. Here. In Elias’ office. By his side. At his knee. Whenever he was called.</p>
<p>“I can, uh,” he cast his eyes down to Elias’ lap where his erection still bulged and reached his hand up to touch his left knee, “I can make it up to you.”</p>
<p>Elias chuckled and reached back towards his glasses, “Yes I’m sure you could, Jon. But I’m afraid we’re finished for today.”</p>
<p>He rolled his chair forward under his desk, leaving Jon to leap backwards or else get run over by it. He scrambled unsteadily backwards on his elbows. The breakneck tonal shift back to Elias’ hands off management style felt like a bucket of ice water thrown in his face. He stayed on his back for a moment trying to gather his composure. The wet spot over the front of his trousers felt cold and shameful, and he thought suddenly about having nothing to hide it with.</p>
<p>“We must do this again, sometime,” Elias said, picking up his fountain pen and scanning over his monitor to find where he had left off, “Now go clean yourself up and take the rest of the day to recover from your travels. I’ll make a note of it on your time card.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir,” Jon said from his back.</p>
<p>“It was my pleasure, Jon.”</p>
<p>Jon rolled onto his side before standing, his knees protesting from the time he’s spent on them. He stood with his back towards Elias and made his way uncomfortably towards the door, running his hands over his hair to smooth it down somewhat before appearing in the hallway. He wondered suddenly how soundproof Elias’ office was, or what staff had cause to make their way past his door in the afternoon. The journey back towards the door felt infinitely longer than the journey from it, now that his destination was less clear. Just as Jon was stepping back over the threshold he turned back over his shoulder, hoping he might see Elias watching him go. He was still pouring over his figures, pulled fully into his work as if Jon had already left.</p>
<p>With more than a touch of disappointment Jon stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He slid his hand from the brass knob and braced it against the cheaply painted composite. He saw, in a flash so clear he may as well have been looking straight at it, Elias scrambling desperately to unclasp his belt under his desk.</p>
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